In Loving Memory
by Coyote Blues
Summary: A series of ficlets/one-shots exploring each Hellfire Club/Brotherhood member as they relate to Shaw and each other. Shaw, Emma Frost, Riptide, Azazel, Raven, Erik. Cherik implied. XMFC AU character study. UPDATED: Azazel. Enjoy!
1. Prologue: Sebastian Shaw

_Author's Note: This story is something I've had kicking around in my mind for a while. I wanted to explore the darker, more villainous sides of the Hellfire Club/Brotherhood members, as centered around the one thing they all had in common: Sebastian Shaw. Each chapter will feature a different character from XMFC. No relation to my other stories, and written for your (and my) enjoyment only. Happy reading!  
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><p><strong>Sebastian Shaw (The Black King)<strong>

He was the glue that held them together. The spark, the leader, the life of the party. He was a collector, and he carefully collected them one by one. The diamond queen. The wind-maker. The vanishing man. The flying girl. He looked past their shattered lives and saw them for what they truly were: talented, beautiful, and powerfully deadly. He gave them a reason to work together, and for a time, they were a force with which to be reckoned. He was the self-appointed king of a terrifying army of misfits and monsters. He thought himself _unstoppable_, and for a time, he truly was.

But, even a king can lose his crown.

In the twisted metal of his submarine kingdom, Shaw met his match in a pair of mutant rebels. The metal-bender was his own creation, come back to haunt Shaw for the lifetime of nightmares he created. The mind reader was fresh, new and someone that even Shaw feared to battle. Together they extinguished the fire, the life, and the party. Together they worked as one to kill a dynasty, but even then, Shaw had his revenge. With his last breath, his own death succeeded in killing everything the two men had built together.

Sebastian Shaw was dead.


	2. The Diamond Queen

**Emma Frost (The White Queen)**

Emma Frost was American royalty; at least, that's what she always believed. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth, she had never known a life of hardship. She was a member in the untouchable class, the societal elite, always a party to attend and an expensive drink in hand. Emma batted her eyes, she moved with poise, she impressed the important people, and she did everything _right_ – which was precisely why Emma wondered now how it all went so very _wrong_.

The city – _if_ it could be called that - was named Missoula. It was tiny, it was picturesque, and most importantly, it was far away from that other telepath and his team. As far as Emma was concerned, Missoula was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. As she sat in the tacky, run-down beauty parlor and watched the vapid Korean or Chinese girl file her nails - they all looked the _same_ to her – she mused over the fact that Missoula seemed to lack everything except immigrants and poverty. The team had only been there for three weeks, living in a converted hunting lodge in the nearby woods outside the city limits. _Rustic_, that's what Magneto called their new headquarters. _Trapped_ is what Emma called it, and every day they spent there stuck with only each other for company felt like an eternity. This did not sit well with the fallen queen. She gazed out the widow of the salon at the pedestrian traffic, and her thoughts drifted to Sebastian. _He would have never stuck us in this shithole_. An ache started in her heart at the thought of Sebastian. It was times like this she wished she could use her own mutation on herself to dull the pain.

She was nineteen when Sebastian walked into her life. Her father was throwing a lavish work party – he was always entertaining and working, even at the expense of his family – and Sebastian was a rich, powerful investor who was invited for less for his conversation and more for his money and influence. Sebastian was handsome, suave, and at the snap of his fingers, he could have any woman he wanted. Emma was instantly intrigued by him, partially from his charm, and partly because Emma's father detested him, and Emma detested her father. Emma's gifts developed at a young age, and when her father discovered her talents, he used her to his advantage to read the minds of his business associates. Emma, however, wanted nothing to do with boring business men. She was young and beautiful; she wanted to see the world and get away from the smothering grip of her parents and the city. When she read Sebastian's thoughts, it was the first time she realized that she was not alone – like her, he was _gifted_. As her cerulean eyes grew wide, Sebastian looked right at her and smiled knowingly, later following her out to the balcony with two glasses of champagne, even though she was too young to drink. After a few hours of conversation and a stolen kiss, she linked her arm through his and never once looked back.

To say that Emma loved Sebastian wouldn't be untrue. She loved the idea of him, his power, money, and influence. Emma was innocent when she met him and he took that from her the same night she ran away with him. For a while, everything was perfect – better than perfect, actually. Sebastian gave her the good life, the constant parties, the travel, the adventure, and most importantly, the knowledge they were superior creatures. He even gave her the code name still kept, and she hung on his arm like a prize. She was his diamond queen. He was her black king. Together, they would rule the world.

That's what he promised, anyways.

In the end, what Sebastian actually took from her was far more than Emma had bargained. After a time, she became dependent on him to make decisions, and she deferred to him on almost all aspects of her life. She even dressed herself in all white at his suggestion. In some ways, he was just like her father. Things really started going downhill after he got that _damn_ Russian helmet. He said it was for protection, and while she might smile, look pretty and occasionally fetch ice for his drinks, she was not stupid. He got it to keep her out. What secrets did he have to hide? When did he even start keeping secrets from her?

What hurt the most was sitting in prison, waiting. Sebastian never came - he never even tried. She never shed tears while waiting, even as the days rolled by and the chances for a dashing rescue dwindled. Whenever she felt like crying, she simply turned herself into diamond. Diamonds are not weak, and diamonds cannot cry. The day that Magneto came for her was the day that her life ended. Sebastian was dead; he never had plans to bring her back into his life. He replaced her with that little flying _whore_ he brought over from the other side. She saw this on Magneto's face as he held out his hand to her, but being ever the actress, she merely smiled and accepted his invitation to a new life. What no one knew was that, later that night when she was finally alone, Emma cried for hours; the hollow, racking sobs of a person completely and utterly abandoned. She was a queen without her king, lost and alone in the Missoula woods.

Her teammates were no comfort to her. Riptide could be read like a book (a boring one at that), and Azazel was nearly impossible to read, as his mutation kept him almost always in a transitional state and prevented her from clearly reading his thoughts. Besides, Riptide and Azazel had been _Sebastian's_ men, not her confidants, and frankly, she was disgusted at how quickly they switched allegiance to their new leader. Emma didn't know the girl Raven, or the flying _whore_ (not that she wanted to get to know _her_ anymore than necessary). Raven, Emma quickly surmised, could barely do anything other than shapeshift. Her powers could potentially make her unstoppable, but right now, the blue girl was too concerned with her looks and being accepted to be anything more than an annoyance.

Her new leader Magneto was certainly a challenge. Emma was used to being second in command, and once she ascertained that Raven was no threat, she played her cards. The second night she was free, Emma appeared unannounced with a smile and a six-pack of beer in Magneto's bedroom. She was coy and playful, and she drew on her entire bag of tricks. Magneto watched her with an amused expression and at one point, he even kissed her, but after all her tricks were played, he wouldn't fuck her, and he sent Emma away. She was not used to rejection, and it did not sit well with her. She went to her room angry, and after finishing the beer in an attempt to dull the pain, she sought out Azazel, drunk and alone and desperate for any affection she could get. She thought he'd at least be _grateful_ – judging by his looks, she doubted he got laid often – but the way he looked at her when he hissed at her to leave his room had _frightened_ her. She practically ran back to her own room and sat in bed shaking for the rest of the night. She might not have been happy all the time with Sebastian, but at least with him, Emma never lost control, not like this. _Not like this_.

But all of this was slowly melting into Emma's past. Magneto was moving the members in a direction she disagreed with, and there would be no more parties or good life ahead. She had already been in touch with other powerful mutants, the ones only she and Sebastian knew and dealt with. There were openings in the Hellfire court, and with his death, Sebastian's handed Emma the keys to freedom. Without Sebastian, Emma's ties to the old time were effectively severed. _Let them live in the woods like animals_, she thought. Emma would have followed Sebastian to the end of the earth, but it was only a matter of time before she stopped following Magneto.

The Asian girl finished her manicure and asking Emma for payment. Emma titled her head and smiled sweetly, telling the girl that she had already _been_ paid. The girl thanked her enthusiastically, and Emma smirked. _Stupid humans. You don't get rich by giving away your money, now do you?_

Emma Frost was biding her time.


	3. The Wind Maker

**Janos Quested (Riptide)**

The music pulsed through his body like a heartbeat as Janos stood at the makeshift bar. He tapped his foot along with the music and waited for his drink to be poured. He _liked_ this song. It was rhythmic and catchy, and the beat was easy to dance to. The seedy warehouse he stood in was decorated with flashing lights and haphazardly placed secondhand furniture. The entire club looked like it had been constructed in less than an hour, and truthfully, it probably was. Places like this were not meant to last longer than a few nights; just long enough for the outcasts and misfits of society to find them, find each other, and forget about their suffocating lives for a while. There were all kinds of people in the makeshift club - old and young, men and women, and some Janos wasn't entirely sure _which_ sex they had been born - hell, there were probably a few _mutantes_ in this club, desperate for a brief respite of freedom, even if only for an evening. _Just__ like __me_. He smiled at the thought. He couldn't believe his luck in finding this place in backwards Missoula, but if life had taught him one thing, it was this: the more conservative a place was, the more likely it would have deep, dark secrets if one knew where to look, and Janos always had a talent for finding the dark sides of things. This was _good_ place, a hidden place where everyone could come, dance, and pay to forget about reality. When Janos slipped away from the new headquarters earlier that evening, forgetting was _exactly_ what he had in mind.

The bartender handed a drink to the young Mexican, but waved away Janos's crumpled dollars. Instead, the bartender pointed to an older, Caucasian man a few seats down at the bar. The man raised his glass to Janos. After brief consideration – after all, Janos hadn't played _this_ game for quite some time - Janos returned the man's gesture with a coy smile before sipping his drink. This was an _approval_, the unspoken acceptance of conversation and possibly more. The Caucasian offered a wolfish smile and walked over to Janos. Janos smiled demurely as he made small talk with his new _friend_. If he played his cards right, Janos wouldn't have to pay for a single drink all night. This was the _party_ life, the _good_ life, one that Janos had grown accustomed to.

Janos was still quite young – a mere 22 years in age – but his life experiences were far beyond most men twice his age. He had been frequenting back alley clubs like this one since he was boy of fourteen, when he fled from an abusive home and forged a life on the cruel New Orleans streets. Though young, Janos was quick and clever, and he soon learned that if one was smart and savvy enough, these clubs presented an opportunity to survive, and if Janos was _anything_, he was a _survivor_. He had been fighting to survive his entire life; from his violent, fundamentalist father, from his life of immigrant poverty, from pimps who beat him, and from clients who cried in his arms afterward and blamed him for their sins. Right now, Janos sized-up the man who paid for his drink. This white man was considerably older, and by the look of his clothing and physique, he probably a _family_ man. Janos bit down on an ice cube and relished the feel of the frozen water cracking and melting on his tongue. Family men were most willing to pay for Janos's time, and the least likely to become too attached when Janos got bored and moved on. In the back of his mind he calculated how much he should charge, and smirked internally to himself. It's funny how quickly his old life could reappear when needed. Janos was not new to the industry of sex and manipulation; after all, this is how he came to meet Sebastian Shaw in the first place.

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><p>Janos had just turned eighteen when Sebastian came in his life. Eighteen, the year one legally became an adult, although Janos had been working as an adult far longer and in ways far harder than anyone should ever experience. The Mexican had been sitting at the bar he worked, nursing a drink, when the rich white man entered with a beautiful blond draped on his arm like a trophy. The youth eyed the pair with curiosity, holding his breath when he took in the man's smart suit and the woman's opulent jewelry. They certainly were an <em>unusual<em> sight in Janos's dive bar, a bar where it was understood that the patrons were less interested in drinking than what – or _who_ – was available for the right price. After a quick assessment, Janos assumed the couple to be husband and wife looking to add heat to a marriage that had already reached the point of ice. It wasn't uncommon for couples bored to death with each other pay for boys like Janos for kinks and excitement, trying desperately to add fire back into a marriage they had spent years smothering with water. Janos never understood the attraction himself, but money was money, and he had to eat and pay his rent. His _manager_ Marcos – Janos hated the word pimp, even if that's what he _technically_ was - was already negotiating with the rich white man. The blond keep smiling vacantly in Janos's direction while the men talked. There was something about her that made Janos's skin crawl; he couldn't shake the feeling that the woman was putting on some kind of act.

Marcos managed a few other young men in the bar, but this couple seemed _keenly_ interested in Janos. Janos played with the wooden stick in his drink and smiled. Marcos would increase the asking price based on the couple's apparent wealth; he was clever like that. The man had _rescued_ Janos from a merciless pimp who beat him for the slightest digression (and sometimes, for the sheer pleasure of beating him), and Janos had worked for Marcos ever since. Marcos never raised his voice or hand at Janos, and Janos _loved_ Marcos. Janos would do anything for the man that took him away for the nightmare he had been living since he left his parents' house. As Janos fantasized about what he could do with his cut of the rich couple's money – pay rent, buy new clothing (he sorely needed shoes without holes), maybe even eat in a _real_ restaurant without having to _fuck_ his dinner date afterward – he got the signal from Marcos that a deal had been struck. Janos threw back his drink and walked out of the bar. The motel he used wasn't too far away, and as instructed, the couple trailed Janos at a respectable distance. As Janos turned the corner, however, a voice called out to him.

_Janos,__ turn__ left__ here.__ Walk__ towards__ the __beach_. Janos froze in mid-stride. He was sure Marcos didn't tell the couple his _real_ name, and he was _positive_ that the spoken words had been _inside_ his head. He turned sharply and faced the couple. The blond woman titled her head slightly and smiled eerily. _I __know __you__ can __hear __me__ darling. __Don__'__t__ be__ scared;__ we__'__re __just __like__ you_. Her sparkling eyes seemed to see inside his very soul. The older man smiled warmly, if not a bit amused by Janos's wide-eyed reaction of shock. He swallowed hard and continued to stare in disbelief for a few seconds before the man motioned toward the beach path, and the couple walked in that direction. This time, Janos followed his clients.

They stopped at a private spot on the beach and the man – Sebastian, a name Janos would _never_ forget – showed Janos that he was not alone in the world. Janos felt dizzy, and sat down hard on the sand as the pair exchanged amused glances before Sebastian suggested that it was Janos's turn for show-and-tell. Even in the muggy Louisiana heat, the young Mexican remembered his cold sweat and trepidation. He had _never_ shown his powers to anyone, not even Marcos. It was his dirty secret, one that he lived his whole life pretending didn't exist. Janos nervously stood and turned to face the oncoming waves of the sea. After checking multiple times that there was no one to witness other than the two _mutantes_ behind him, he opened his hand and twirled his wrist. As he did so, a delicate funnel of water grew out of the surf. He danced the funnel around the shore, and when he shot Sebastian a fearful look, Janos saw something he had _never_ seen before: unmasked _pride_ on the older man's face. Janos felt a wave of relief wash over him, as if an invisible weight he had carried his whole life suddenly fell away. Encouraged by Sebastian's approval, Janos extended his other hand and created a whirlwind, smashing the waves and causing the sand to whip around the trio. The blond woman frowned and grabbed her sun hat, clearly not amused by the youth's actions, but Sebastian laughed out loud.

"Beautiful. Simply _beautiful_."

Janos had _never_ before been called beautiful, not by his family, not by his lovers, not even by himself. He had never forgotten these words, no matter how bad things had become.

After his display, Janos listened attentively as Sebastian described a world of which Janos never dared to dream – a life of power and luxury, fit for kings and queens; a place where Janos never had to hide his lifestyle or his mutation. As temping as Sebastian's fantasy sounded, Janos knew he couldn't leave Marcos behind. Marcos saved him, and Marcos _loved_ him; when Janos looked upon Emma, he was sure that Sebastian would understand this. When he declined Sebastian's offer to join his group, Sebastian simply smiled, handed Janos a business card and money for the youth's time. As Janos took the card and cash, Sebastian closed his hand over the young man's for a long pause, and looked deep into Janos's eyes.

"You can't trust these _humans_; they'll sell you to the highest bidder."

Janos raised an eyebrow at Sebastian's cryptic warning and left the beach soon after. He never told Marcos the truth about the couple, and let his lover believe they had just a regular trick looking in all the wrong places. Later that night in bed – Marcos stayed at Janos's small studio on a regular basis - Janos asked Marcos if he loved him. Marcos merely kissed him on the forehead and told him he needed to stop worrying about every detail. Later, when Janos finally fell asleep, he dreamed of wild winds and hurricanes.

A few months after that chance meeting, something happened that Janos never thought possible. When the he arrived at his bar to start his shift, he was intercepted outside the by an older, dangerous-looking man who told him in crude Spanish that he no longer worked for Marcos. After a verbal fight and slight physical altercation ("I don't like to damage my _merchandise_," the older man spat in Janos's face while he struggled), Janos pushed past the man and into the dank reprieve of the seedy bar. He frantically begged Marcos to tell him what was going on; surely it was all a misunderstanding. When he looked into Marcos's eyes, his heart broke into a million pieces.

$300 dollars. $300 was the cost of love and loyalty in Janos's world.

He remembered screaming, accusing, crying, and finally hitting the man he loved. When Marcos struck him back, it was as if every little thing Janos had ever held onto to make his world livable came crashing down. Janos bolted from the bar, running haphazardly through the streets of New Orleans, not caring where he went or how may people he accidentally ran into. Eventually, winded and exhausted, he collapsed in the doorway of an abandoned French Quarter church and wept until his head hurt and his throat was raw. He was forsaken, abandoned, and alone in a city so cruel it was known to eat its young.

Hours later, after he had watched the shadows grow long and swallow each other whole until the entire world wore a shroud of death and darkness, Janos sat shivering in the church doorway. He didn't know how long he sat there before he realized he was no longer alone. Sebastian was by himself this time – how he found Janos, the boy would never know – but without word, the older man took off his coat, draped it across Janos's shoulders, and sat next to him. The two men sat in silence for a long time before Sebastian spoke the words that would change Janos's life forever.

"How would you like to work for me?"

The young man thought about everything he had experienced in his short, unfair life, and after a few moments of silent contemplation, he wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand and nodded. Sebastian put his arm around Janos and whistled loudly. A devilish man appeared in front of the pair, stepping out of a insidious cloud of brimstone smoke. Janos didn't even flinch at red man's dramatic appearance. The vanishing man didn't speak, but raised an eyebrow in respectful disbelief at the youth. No one who had seen Azazel – that was his name, Janos would soon learn - appear or disappear for the first time had such an unfazed reaction. Janos had, however, seen too much for one day to react to anything at this point. Azazel took Sebastian's hand and the men vanished from the city for good.

Sebastian gave Janos a room on his yacht - his own, _private_ room - bigger than the entire roach-infested studio that Janos had previously occupied. The next few weeks were like walking in a blissful dream for Janos. It took a long time – _weeks_, actually – for the young man to shake the fear that this was all just a dream, and it would dissolve as he opened his eyes from a deep slumber. Some nights he had nightmares, waking up in cold sweats and panicked, gulping breaths until he was _absolutely_ certain that he was still in his room on the yacht. Shortly after he settled into his new surroundings, Sebastian arranged for Emma to take Janos shopping. _We__ can__'__t__ have__ you__ wearing __such__…__festive __clothing_, was Emma's reaction to Janos's eclectic, makeshift wardrobe. _We__ have __an __image__ to__ maintain_. Emma and Janos flew to New York City, were a private limo collected the pair. Emma knew all the _right_ places to go, and didn't hesitate to command the driver like an imperious queen. For the entire day, Janos was like a child on Christmas morning; he had never sat in the lap of luxury, and as he drank expensive champagne, ate pricey caviar, and listen to Emma complain about training hired help, it was the first time he experienced the _good_ life. As they shopped, the blond never once asked for the prices of the anything she selected for Janos; she simply snapped her fingers and instructed an army of salesmen to fit and tailor Janos in suits of beautiful, brilliant colors and cuts. _Slaves,__ that__'__s __what __they __are._ Emma's cold voice echoed in Janos's head as she caught his eye and smirked at the men who scurried at her command_.__ You __and __I__ are__ royalty __among __insects._ As Janos staggered under the weight of his new wardrobe, he was painfully aware that one suit cost what his father had earned in three months of hard labor. He also became painfully aware that Emma was someone who he had to watch out for.

Janos didn't even think of his own code name, Sebastian did. After watching Janos practice in the crisp waters on the deck one morning, Sebastian clapped him on the back and laughed, telling Janos that he was making quite a _riptide_. The name stuck, as did his feverish desire to serve Sebastian. Sebastian didn't make fun of his accent, or the way he lisped his vowels either. Sebastian took him from the streets and made him part of his fictitious kingdom; he and Azazel were the knights, Sebastian and Emma the king and queen. Although Janos spend most of his time with Emma, he quickly grew tired of her elitist attitude. He found Emma's quick dismissal of lower class and ethnic people appalling; Janos may be a _mutant_, but at heart he was also a proud Mexican. Knowing that Emma was Sebastian's lover, Janos adopted a policy of silence around the blond to avoid verbal altercations. Janos got along well enough with Azazel, mostly because the vanishing man rarely talked. Like Janos, Azazel was a man of action, and the two seemed to understand that about each other straight away. Azazel also didn't seem to care that Janos was a _maricón_. Some men avoided Janos when they found out that he preferred the company of other men, but Azazel seemed to accept that as part of who Janos was. It was refreshing t find a group people who didn't judge him. Sebastian was security, something Janos never really had in his previous life; something quite honestly, he never dared to dream he would ever have. Under Sebastian's tutelage, Janos stopped being ashamed of his mutation. Sebastian saw his powers as beautiful, and in time, Janos realized the attraction that the raw ability held.

After a few months in the Hellfire Club – the punchy, playful name Sebastian dubbed the group one night after too much laughter and too many drinks - Janos found his thoughts drifting once again to Marcos. He was still livid at the man for his betrayal; to think, Janos first declined Sebastian's offer so he could continue to be with his traitorous lover. The thought filled Janos with rage, so much so that he eventually reached a breaking point. Late one night Janos sought out Azazel, and asked his teammate to take him back to New Orleans one last time. Azazel studied Janos in silence for a moment before simply nodding, selecting a sword, and taking the young man's hand. When they arrived at their destination - a secluded cemetery across nearby Marcos's apartment - the red mutant sheathed his sword and sat down in the shadow of a large tombstone. His crystal eyes seemed to shine through the darkness as he looked up at Janos and quietly said, "Your fight comrade, _nyet_ mine."

That night was the first time Janos took another man's life. He had been surprised and a bit scared at how _easy_ it was, how _little_ he felt when he looked into his former lover's lying eyes, heard his meaningless promises and pleas, and took his life from him with a few calculated slashes of a knife. Janos didn't even use his powers to kill Marcos; the man wasn't _good__ enough_ for that. When Janos came out of the apartment, he was covered in blood. Azazel took him to a beach where they built a fire from driftwood. The red man sat on the sand and said nothing as Janos stripped and threw his blood-soaked garments into the fire. Turning towards the sea, the young man closed his eyes, stood with his arms stretched out, naked to the world, and faced the deep ocean of his future. Janos was dead; _Riptide_ was all that remained. His mutation became his identity, and with Sebastian and the Hellfire Club, Riptide would destroy the world that sought to destroy him; the pimps who robbed him; the father who beat him; the men who paid to defile him; and all the humans who looked down on him for being poor and gay and Mexican and everything else he had no control over in his life. These people hurt _Janos_, but _Riptide_ would make them _pay_. When he finally faced the fire again, he found a bundle of new clothing at his feet. After that night, Janos became part of a well-oiled killing machine, a member of the elite. He lived the good life, the one that would define him up until the very of Sebastian's. And while the party lasted, it was the time of his life.

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><p>What Janos regretted the most – the one thing he would pay untold sums to change - was that he was unconscious when Sebastian's life was taken by a fellow mutant. Janos had been dumbfounded when the rag-tag group of misfit <em>mutantes<em> did not join Sebastian when he offered his hand at the CIA compound. Janos had wanted to scream at them, tell them that they were fools and ignorant and making the same _mistake_ that he did when he chose Marcos over Sebastian. Sebastian was offering to set them _free_, but only Angel was smart enough to accepted his hand. Janos liked Angel very much. Not only did they have a common language, but they had led similar lives before joining their respective teams. She understood the beauty and preciousness of the fragile kingdom that Sebastian was building. Janos shed no tears when he heard that Emma was captured, and he had no fear in his heart as the three watched the missiles come for them on the beach. As the weapons volleyed back and forth and the two new mutant men fought and broke their pact to each other, Janos knew he was safe; Azazel held his hand out towards Janos, and Angel clung tightly to her friend as their world shattered all around them. When Erik – now Magneto – emerged as a leader, the trio exchanged glances and wordlessly decided to take him and the blue girl off the beach that day.

What their new leader never knew was that Janos, Angel, and Azazel left the new team's secret hideout and returned to the beach that night to claim the body of Sebastian Shaw. Janos and Angel carefully washed his body and dressed him while Azazel made the last arrangements on the _Carpahtia_, team's replacement for the yacht destroyed months prior. Each mutant spent a few private moments with Sebastian. Janos held the dead man's hand, and spent a long time telling Sebastian all the things he had wished he had the chance but never said. He never asked what Angel or Azazel said to Sebastian before the red mutant gently picked-up the man's body and vanished. A few moment's later, the _Carpahtia_ erupted into bright flames and slowly drifted out to sea. It was a funeral fit for a king among gods. As the fire burned hot against the cold night sky, Angel's silent tears flowed freely, and the always stoic Azazel watched the entire procession with a profound sadness in his eyes. Janos wept openly for the man who had truly saved his life; each white hot flame was one more fragment of Janos's dream melting away.

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><p>Things were so very <em>different<em> now. Life in the Brotherhood was better than being back on the streets, but it didn't stop Janos from missing Sebastian deeply, and missing the playful, carefree existence he lived in the Hellfire Club. Like a proud father, Sebastian had loved him, and Janos loved Sebastian in return. He missed the party, the good life. Magneto's vision was not as grand, and his methods were too gritty and mundane. Janos didn't care much for the wild-eyed blue girl that stood and watched from the sidelines. Raven reminded him too much of how he used to be before Riptide emerged victorious. Azazel slid back into silence, keeping his own counsel from the rest of the team, and something had broken inside Emma during her incarceration. She was a shadow of her former self, moving in silence and preferring the company of her own thoughts to the conversations of others. In recent weeks, Janos and Angel often reminisced on their Hellfire days like old veterans reliving the wars of their youth. They talked of leaving the Brotherhood, and more and more often, Janos fantasized about running away in the middle of the night and never looking back. Unknown to Magneto, Sebastian had left them all financial resources; it wasn't much, but it was enough to get on his feet. If Janos had been a survivor in the game of life, Riptide was a winner.

However, right now Janos's attention was on the man seated across from him, who laughed and slid is hand up from Janos's knee. He'd have to fake it tonight, but Janos was already faking it so much with the new Brotherhood. He missed the party, the fun, the good that was being Sebastian's left-man. Without him, there wasn't much reason to remain.

Janos was only in it for the _good_ life.


	4. 4 The Vanishing Man

**Azazel (The Vanishing Man)**

It was her laugh that first caught his attention. She had been on his team for three months, but he had hardly noticed the quiet blue girl who spent most of her time hidden in the shadows of their new leader.

The pair was on a mission spying on a potential recruit. They were alone in an abandoned warehouse, positioned in a window that allowed them to view the world in their natural forms, when without warning, she laughed. Her voice was sudden and sweet and melodious, like a bird signing to herald the dawn. Azazel was surprised to hear his own voice, heavy in the foreign tongue, inquire as to _what_ she found so funny. The blue girl giggled and shook her head, her fiery hair tumbling like a halo around her face, and pointed at the man they were watching. Azazel failed to see what amused her, and instead, regarded his teammate with a raised eyebrow. She laughed again, covering her mouth, her golden eyes delighted now from his reaction. The red mutant sighed and turned away, wanting to be annoyed and regard her as a foolish child, but as the sound of her lilting voice echoed in the empty corridors, he couldn't stop the corners of his mouth curved up slightly. When he looked at her again, it was the like the first time he _really_ saw her. Her amber eyes sparkled and her ivory smile was infectious. As he took her hand to leave, he was suddenly struck with the thought that he very _badly_ he wanted to run his fingers across the scales of her skin.

After that mission, she began to seek him out. With everyone coming and going from the headquarters, there were plenty of times when the pair would be alone. Azazel preferred to maintain his solitude, but the blue girl always managed to find him whenever he stepped out of his private quarters. At first her interruptions irritated him, but after that mission, he began to find that part of him hoped to see her turn the corner or take a seat in the same room as him. Not longer after their mission, Azazel was in the main room killing time with a book as he waiting for Emma to summon him for travel. The blue girl found him and wasted no time placing a chessboard on the coffee table by his feet. He acknowledged her presence with an arched eyebrow and secretly stole glances as she carefully arranged the pieces on the board. When she was satisfied, she took a seat across from him and slid a white piece to a new position on the board. He continued to feign reading his book as she watched him patiently. After a few minutes, she sighed and stated, "It's _your_ move."

Regarding at her over the top of the book, he paused for a few breaths before responding. "What?" She nudged the piece she had moved into play.

"Play chess with me?" When he answered with an impassive stare, she sighed and added, "Please? I'm bored." Azazel closed his book and studied the board in silence. After a few moments, he countered her move with a black pawn. They played for hours that night, and returned to the game whenever they found themselves alone. Chess led to conversations, and conversations led to more laughter, whispered secrets, and eventually, to the bedroom where Azazel currently sat on the edge of his bed, polishing a sword in quiet contemplation.

He retreated to his room because he had grown tired Emma complain about the state of the new safe house. Nothing was ever _good_ _enough_ for the White Queen. Azazel never cared for the life of luxury; he had spent the better half of his life sleeping on the ground anyways, so having a mattress alone was a bit of a luxury. None of it – the bed, the roof, any of the items he had collected over the years except for his swords – really _meant_ anything to him. He was always ready to leave his life and all its possessions behind at a second's notice. Azazel couldn't afford the luxury of having attachments, and this was the problem that currently weighed heavily on his mind. Everything had changed so much in the last few months, and for the first time in his life, Azazel was unsure of where to place his loyalties.

The red mutant smirked and contemplated his reflection as it flashed in the shining metal blade. People naturally assumed that his demonic appearance was a handicap. Not true; he always found his appearance to be one of his _strongest_ features. The fear people feel when they see him is astounding; the shock and surprise was enough to give him a distinct advantage in any fight. He's never really had a problem with women either; women like strength and power, and he always managed to find women who had a taste for the exotic. He never really thought about any of this though, until Sebastian Shaw recruited him.

Azazel was Shaw's true confidant. Everyone assumed it was Emma, but Azazel knew that Shaw trusted him the most. By necessity, the red mutant was always confined to the shadows, remaining behind closed doors and secret rooms when Shaw entertained. But it was Azazel with whom Shaw talked to the most, discussed plans of attack and plotted missions. It was Azazel who knew the wild extent of Shaw's visions. There was always a pained look on Shaw when he asked Azazel to leave when entertaining political leaders and heads of state. The red mutant never took offense, knowing that the humans Shaw had to manipulate would never accept his appearance. One of the last times he saw Shaw, the leader put his hand on Azazel's shoulder as the red mutant turned to leave the room.

"One day soon, my friend, I'll never ask you to hide again." The sympathetic look on Shaw's face spoke volumes. Azazel put his hand over Shaw's in solidarity and nodded before disappearing. Shaw was going to change the world, and Azazel was there to help him do this.

Things had changed so very much since Shaw's death. Emma found her way to Azazel's room once. What a _stupid_ girl, acting like she was doing him a _favor_ - as if he had never fucked a beautiful woman before. He remembered her standing in his doorway, swaying back and forth on her plastic platform shoes. He could smell the alcohol on her, and her eyes were sad, begging someone – _anyone_ - to touch her, love her, look at her with the admiration that Shaw once did. Azazel looked at her, and thought about the sound her neck would make if he twisted his hands the right way. The _snap_, the _end_ of a life. Emma and Riptide made him sick sometimes, with their sex and drugs and constant parties. Shaw knew restraint. Shaw knew how to use the illusion of luxury to get what he wanted, and Azazel both respected and admired him for it. Shaw knew how to work people, to get inside and really tear them to pieces. Azazel often thought Shaw's smiles and promises were far crueler than the blade of his swords.

The blue girl, the once who called herself Mystique…Azazel tail twitched uncomfortably when he thought about her. At first, they were so casual, as if there was nothing to it, but lately, he found himself thinking far too much about her. She felt so _good_ in his arms, so _warm_ in his bed. Too often that he'd lose track of time running his fingers though her hair or tracing the patterns of scales on her skin as they lay in the darkness. He found himself thinking _unnatural_ thoughts; of a quiet life in a house in the country, of children and a settled life built with a lover. These were not the dreams he had with Shaw; these were distractions, dangerous desires. The longer he stayed here, the harder it was going to be to leave. A dull ache throbbed inside his chest, and he put down the sword he was polishing. He knew this. He knew _better_.

Lying back on his bed, he looking up at the ceiling. Teleporting, his vanishing act, produced such a dramatic effect. It looks so _easy_, so _effortless_ to just simply disappear and reappear on a whim. But Azazel is quiet, and he likes to keep secrets. What he's never let anyone know is that each time he vanishes, for a split second, it _always_ feels like he's burning alive.

Soon enough, he'd have to leave and find greener pastures. He had respected Shaw for his grand vision and for his honesty. The first time he met Shaw, the man didn't even flinch at Azazel's appearance, and he was not frightened by his abilities with a sword. It was his confidence that convinced Azazel to listen to this man's ideas. The new leader - Magneto - simply was _not_ Shaw, and Mystique was becoming a dangerous addition in his world. She was tearing down the walls he spent a lifetime building, and he wasn't about to let her get inside. There was no place for love in the life of an assassin. He closed his eyes.

Azazel was getting bored.


End file.
